


A Study in Familiarity

by victya



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victya/pseuds/victya
Summary: A rainy day on Baker Street . . .Thinking of expanding this into a case fic





	A Study in Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> A wrote this a while ago inspired by domestic prompts on tumblr. I'm thinking of expanding this into a case fic so let me know what you think. Thanks!

It was a rather dreary fall day in 1895, marking over a year since the miraculous return of Dr. John Watson’s beloved consulting detective. The good doctor was leisurely reading a novel on the settee, his left leg casually strewn over his right. The lighting in the room was dim due to the misty London fog and the patter of rain beating lightly again the windowpane. His light brows furrowed in concentration as his eyes flicked across each line taking in the theatrical tale, or ‘romantic drivel’ as Holmes would no doubt consider it.

The detective in question was at that moment continuing his incessant pacing across the sitting room which had been transpiring for nearly twenty minutes. Preceding the pacing was the tinkering of the chemistry set before which was the scattering of papers and files. Without a case, a source of motivation, the man had tired of the experiment quite quickly. Watson levered his gaze away from his reading material and up towards his eccentric flat mate who seemed determined to wear a hole in their long-suffering landlady’s rug.

It had been nearly a week since the commencement of Holmes’ latest case, and the black mood that usually consumed the man during long intervals without cases had not yet appeared. The doctor was grateful for that fact, but knew that should the situation remain the same for much longer, it would not be long before Holmes began to resort to insufferable means of preoccupying himself such as shooting holes in the walls of their shared rooms. At the thought, the ex-army man instinctively turned around to assure himself that his revolver was indeed sitting in his desk drawer and not in the hands of his moody companion.

The end of Watson’s lip quirked down in a frown at his evaluation of the circumstance before him. Of course, the doctor would always prefer Holmes’ antsy mood which often resulted in chaos and destruction in their flat rather than the black mood where the reverberations consisted of the man’s own self destruction. However, both moods required careful treatment which Watson prided himself in learning through many years of cohabitation with the man and his often-manic mood swings.

Watson closed his book on his fingers to keep his page. “Holmes . . .” the doctor began after uncrossing his legs and restoring his posture. The man appeared to be too absorbed in his thoughts to hear his name called as he continued his repetitive stride, purple dressing gown flowing behind him. “Holmes”.

The detective started at the firm repetition of his name, as if he was not even aware of his flat-mate’s presence. He fixed his searching eyes on the doctor, but continued his movement across the sitting room. “My dear fellow?” he inquired rather sweetly considering his mood. Although perhaps the attentions of his friend were a welcome change from the melancholy of the room and the spinning of his mind with nothing to focus upon.

“Why don’t you sit down, there’s nothing to be gained from that infernal pacing of yours.” Watson’s tone was light, but the detective still frowned none the less at being told to quit his fit. “Perhaps we can go for a stroll later once the weather eases up, eh?” the doctor continued, trying to be consoling towards his dear friend’s distress.

“Oh Watson” Holmes began in a tired voice as he stopped in front of the window which granted a view of the grey atmosphere of the street. “How absurdly simple it is for you to occupy your mind” he continued while nodding his head towards the story in the doctor’s hand. “My mind on the other hand” he said with a finger tapping his temple “requires more stimulation. I need problems, I need work! Without something which to aim my powers, there is no doubt that my mind will continue its spiraling decent beyond control!” With that, he brought his other hand to his face in dramatic exasperation.

Ever patient, the doctor pursed then un-pursed his lips and re-doubled the efforts of his cause. “Holmes, you must permit yourself some rest. You have no case at the moment, so there is no reason to needlessly tire yourself” he rationalized with a small gesture of his hand for emphasis. The detective scrutinized him as he brushed his dressing gown aside to theatrically rest his hand upon his own waist. “Quite the contrary, my dear Watson. How am I expected to rest when there has been no work to begin with?” Holmes countered, tilting his head down and raising his eyes to give the doctor an inquisitive look.

Watson drew his lips into a firm thin line knowing that he would not win by out-reasoning his friend. He decided to go with a more straightforward tactic. “Please, Holmes. I insist” he said firmly, patting the settee beside him with prominence. He held the detective’s eyes with his own, tilting his head downward while raising his eyes skyward to reflect the man’s own enquiring look.

Holmes threw his head to the side with a derisive snort, and Watson returned the gesture with the quirk of a smile. The ex-army man’s frankness was then rewarded as his gifted friend strolled resolutely across the room, and collapsed gracefully onto the settee next to him. Once the detective’s lanky body was sprawled over the entirety of the settee like a cat, he plopped his head determinedly into Watson’s lap. Holmes’ intent disregard for his companion’s personal space was an effect of their intimate relationship.

The doctor looked down at his lap to see grey orbs and a raised eyebrow. He carded a hand through unkempt hair that was a byproduct of Holmes’ unwillingness to slick the mass back due to his deteriorating mood. At the touch, the detective released a relieved breath of air and his eyelids slid shut. Seeing his decidedly peaceful state, Watson settled to reopen and continue to read the book that was still in his hand.

221B Baker Street remained nearly silent for several minutes with no noise to be heard except for the pitter patter of the rain in the street. It was then that there was stirring on Watson’s lap. “Hmm” the detective hummed, trying to gain the other man’s attention. There was a pause as the man finished reading the paragraph he was on before responding “Yes, Holmes?”

He noticed that the grey eyes were glancing at his book as Holmes adjusted his neck to get a good view of it. “Oh, it is no wonder that all of your publications are romantic drivel. It is the result of foolishness such as this” the detective said offhandedly with a wave of his hand.

Watson’s first thought was that of dread. It was a time old debate between the two of them. Holmes always wanted his cases to be represented as a pure scientific monograph without the flourishes of storytelling that captured the readers of _The Strand_. He was about to express his displeasure to the man that was resting in his lap when he realized the true intention behind Holmes’ jibe. The truth was that the great detective merely wanted the doctor’s attentions. Watson could see it through the languid look in his eyes.

The mustached man could not prevent the smile that crept onto his lips. Holmes was merely voicing his displeasure towards the book for stealing away the hands that had been ministering to him. “Perhaps you should write up the cases yourself if you are so against my work” he suggested while running a hand through the other man’s hair. “Oh, I shall. All in good time, my dear Watson” Holmes countered. The doctor gave no response other than turning his attentions completely to the fine dark hair in front of him.

Holmes offered no further respite. Instead he returned to a state of calm that Watson could swear was causing the man to melt into his lap. That proved the doctor’s theory to be correct, and his lips to quirk knowingly. Watson mused that he had been catching onto the man’s methods over their years of partnership, but perhaps he had just learned more about the man himself. Neither statement would be incorrect.

Book forgotten, the doctor stroked Holmes’ hair, taming the mess of locks with his fingers. He collected strands from the other man’s forehead and pulled them back in semblance of its usual look. Without proper styling, it did not meet Holmes’ usual grooming standards, but Watson appreciated the improvement from the chaotic mess that reflected Holmes’ mood.

Tired of simply smoothing the hair back, the doctor moved on to focus on the detective’s scalp. He dug his fingers through the silky locks to gently scratch the sensitive skin with his nails, which rewarded him with an immediate reaction from the man in his lap. Watson could feel the shiver run down the other man’s back. The response encouraged the good doctor to continue to massage the skin beneath his touch.

The detective hummed in content causing Watson to smile at the thought of the man’s cat-like response. Holmes even began to tilt and adjust his head to provide the Watson with complete access to his entire scalp. Only for his dear doctor was the man so willing and eager to give himself up, to be so vulnerable.

Watson did not know how long they sat, quiet and satisfied in each other’s company and absorbing the comfort of the close physical contact. The doctor deemed the time period to have been significant in length because after a while he could no longer hear soft sounds of content coming from his companion, indicating that he had fallen asleep. For that, Watson was grateful. With his manic moods, whether there be a case or not, Holmes never slept regularly. So, by God, the doctor knew he could use as much sleep as he could get.

The good doctor just sat for a while, watching Holmes’ chest rise and fall with each breath. It was then that the ex-army man felt a stiffness in his leg. No doubt from sitting in one position for so long in addition to the extra weight on him. However, he dared not move lest he rouse the other man from well needed rest, his own comfort be damned. So, with a resolute mind, he continued to lay, closed his eyes, and focused only on the warmth lying on his lap until he drifted off into sleep.


End file.
